We Are The Loved Ones
by Julnor92
Summary: A short one shot of a moment that I think would have been incredibly tender. GSR. Mention of Catherine/Mike.


_For my sweet friend — Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas! It's a bit shorter than I expected… but I know that neither you nor I like too much fluff. I hope it warms your GSR heart._

_I do not own ANYTHING. Because if I did, something like this would have ended up in the show… also Liev Schreiber would have stuck around because he was AWESOME. _

Grissom watched as Catherine drove off. He had offered to drive her home, drive her to the lab, something. But his friend had turned it down. She did not do it unkindly. But something about this line of work made the act of being vulnerable terrifying and Gil was very well acquainted with it. He allowed her to go, ambulance lights reflecting off of every surface of her vehicle.

He had just got back to Vegas. Just. Got. Back. And suddenly Mike Keppler was a dirty cop.

The detective from Philly.

The tall stoic investigator.

Gil had sensed something in this man's handshake when they had met earlier that day but what would he know? That was all of 20 seconds of observation and he had hung up his CSI hat for a few weeks.

The coroner was now pulling up. He knew Catherine had wanted to wait and stay, and even though she had managed some information out between tears, he knew she couldn't stand it. She had probably gone back to the lab to beat Dave there. Would she sit through the autopsy? How close did they get? Was she this distraught because she was in the middle of the gunfight? As he recalled, she didn't cry when she was attacked at the crime scene four years ago or when Detective Lockwood was killed on duty. How could she stomach it?

_Oh Catherine._ He sighed, inwardly. He knew. He knew because… well,… he had been in that emotional position for a very long time.

_Oh Catherine. I'm so sorry. _His internal monologue continued. _I forget how quickly these things happen. _

Grissom suddenly felt guilty… which was strange because every assumption he had just made about Catherine was just that. An assumption. But still. If he was correct, she had only mere weeks to explore this attraction she had with this man while he, Grissom, had had years to dream, decode, run away from, and come back to his… his… Oh God. What was Sara? Girlfriend? Lover? No.

He turned to walk to his car. He was useless here. And now he was distracted.

—

He pulled up to his condo. He did not see her car. He pinched the bridge of his nose, an unconscious reminder that today had gone in an unseen turn of events. He stepped out of his vehicle, grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, and made his way inside.

He was greeted by the quiet but incredibly loving face of Hank. Gil rolled past him to put his things down then turned around to pet his friend affectionately.

"Hank! I've missed you, buddy." He said, to the boxer's scrunched up face. Grissom sat on the arm of the sofa allowing himself to sit in this human moment in his own home, petting his sweet companion. He stood again and made his way to his stereo system. Whimsical yet quiet classical music began to play, calming his heart rate. He was trying to let himself do these kinds of things. Hank's head suddenly perked up and whipped around to the front door.

He had just beat Sara home.

Sara quickly unlocked the door, which they both quickly realized had not been locked yet, and she stepped through.

"What just happened?" She asked. "I heard on the scanner there was an officer involved shooting. I heard Catherine… what happened?"

He sadly gazed at her.

"I also heard that it was tended to but I was driving." He looked down at his feet. "Gil?"

"It appeared that Mike Keppler had many ghosts." He finally answered. "And they followed him here to Vegas."

She sighed. She moved past Grissom to put her keys and bag in their designated places in the home. Then she found a counter to lean upon and turned to face him.

"He was the one shot?" Grissom nodded. "He's not ok, is he?"

Grissom stared past her. "He died on the scene."

Sara stared back at him, the look he knew all too well, the one where the tears might begin to form but don't. Her eyes burrowing into his forehead. Hank had found his way back to Grissom's hands and he had begun to absent-mindedly pett him again. Sara's features relaxed as she processed it.

"How do you know?"

"I heard it on the scanner too and was close… Catherine was there…" he relayed the events very simply. "I'm pretty sure he was gone before he was loaded into the ambulance."

Sara's arms were wrapped around herself. She sniffed and turned to unpack some things. Grissom watched her do this with soft eyes. He stood, feeling suddenly awkward. Something wasn't right. Yes, one of their own was just shot and killed. But it wasn't that. Something wasn't right between **them**. And he knew what it was.

"I'm sorry." He said. Sara turned to look at him, the same face she had made in the locker room when the taxi was waiting for him, not judgmental but seemingly patient. "I… didn't fully communicate with you, my plans for my sabbatical. I only mentioned them. That was neither professional… or considerate. To you."

She gave him her famous one-sided grin before looking at her hands. "I'm sorry… that I smelled like a dumpster when you got back."

He noticed that he hair was a bit damp still from her shower she most likely took shortly after their encounter at the lab. He blushed a bit at that. "You wouldn't have to apologize if I had communicated my return. And you don't need to anyway. I still thought you looked beautiful."

Still not quite used to these sentiments of his, as much as they touched her, she looked away. Deciding to move the early morning along, she made her way into the kitchen.

"Are you in the mood for dinner? Or for breakfast?" She called back.

But he wasn't thinking of food. The music, though quiet, was encircling his brain. It began to flood his senses mixing with the feeling of his much he had **missed** her. He heard cupboards open and close. He felt the tiniest of grins forming on his lips. He stopped petting Hank.

"That trash dump ended up being an accident… Kind of a waste of a day…" Sara called as she pulled out eggs and turkey bacon. She had made up her mind to what they were eating evidently. He followed her to the kitchen and stood behind her and took her in. She had been a constant presence in his life since they worked together by now it was different. She was his home. That was it.

She felt like home. And now they **were** home.

He broke out of his reverie in time because she was about to turn on the stove. He slowly moved to her right side and took her hand. She looked up at him not thinking much of it for just a second. But then looked at him strangely.

"Yes?" She asked quizzically. He was grinning and pulling her away from the stove. He held her right hand in his left and placed her left on his right shoulder. He pulled her close, resting his gaze on her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes. "What is this?" She certainly felt awkward. But only because she wasn't used to… this. And well, it had been a few weeks since they had been in each other's arms.

"I don't know." He answered honestly, gently stepping side to side. "I guess I'm trying to learn to balance my impulses."

There was a rush in that. A rush that felt like a wave as it crashed onto the sand. But that was loud — and this was quiet. That was who he had become. Her quiet. Her mind was quiet. No scanner. No beeping. No reports printing out.

She rested her forehead against his cheek, as he led in the swaying. Her brain wanted to travel down memory lane, to think back to all she had endured to get here. But right now it didn't matter. The journey was important but in this moment, she could be allowed to relish in the destination. His hand clung to her waist as the other cradled her fingers against his chest.

"I've missed you." He whispered.

_I'm gushing at my own story. I'm such a sap._


End file.
